


Ink

by Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction



Series: The Monster Series Collection [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dragon!Steve, F/M, magic tattoos, magic tattoos move, tattoo artist!Bucky, they run a tattoo/piercing place, warlock!bucky, werewolf!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction/pseuds/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction
Summary: You seek out a specialist- A warlock. But not just any warlock- one who specializes in magical tattoos. Your search (and a recommendation from a friend) leads you to “Barnes, Rogers, and Wilson: Ink and Piercings” and perhaps the most attractive man you’ve ever met.





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth Monster!Character one shot for Spooktober 2018! I took some artistic liberties since there wasn’t a prompt attached to the request.  
> If you want to request another Monster!Character, you can drop a comment on any of the fics in the Monster!Series Collection, giving me a prompt and/or telling me what Monster!Character you want to see! Please don't request Monster!Character I've already done (for example, demon!bucky or vampire!steve). You can request any character from the following universes: MCU, Mass Effect, X-Men, Harry Potter, Supernatural, and Dragon Age. Requesting something doesn't mean I'll choose it, but it doesn't hurt to ask!

The light above the shop flickers ever so slightly, proclaiming “Barnes, Rogers, and Wilson: Ink and Piercings” to all who pass. Which, considering how out of the way the place is, isn’t many people. A vampire strolls past you, barely sparing you a glance as he hurries on his way, clearly wary of being in such an unsavory part of town.

Wanda had given you the recommendation and it was only your trust in her that has you even considering going in. You give the outside of the grubby building a final, worried look before you walk through the door (which is propped open by a stone- very professional).

The inside couldn’t have been more different from the exterior. The surfaces are gleaming, the floor swept clean. Art hangs on the walls above each of the work stations (which are separated by low walls that could be seen over by those standing), signatures proclaiming their artist’s name proudly.

Work by a “JBB” catches your eye and makes you stare, entranced. It’s similar to “SGR”’s art, but JBB’s paintings are moving, so life-like that you can’t help but admire the amount of work it must have taken to paint them.

There isn’t anyone out on the floor, but at the sound of the bell tinkling merrily, a man- a wolf, if you weren’t mistaken- pops his head out of a door that likely leads to a back room. The moment he sees you he grins, sharp white teeth flashing brightly, contrasting wildly against his dark skin.

Definitely a werewolf.

“Hey there! I thought I heard the bell ring,” he says, friendly and open as he walks up to the counter. The name tag pinned to his shirt tells you that his name is Sam.

You step forward, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. “I, uh- a friend of mine recommended this place,” you explain clumsily.

But the wolf only smiles again, easygoing. “This friend have a name?”

“Wanda,” you say quickly, feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

Sam’s face only gets brighter at the mention of the witch, though. “Ah man! I miss that girl. How’s she doing?” 

“Oh, uh. Good!” you mumble, nervous.

But Sam nods happily, as though you’d told him a great story instead of bumbling through a one-word sentence. “That’s great. It was real nice of her to recommend our parlor. Did she suggest anyone in particular? If not I can give you a quick rundown.”

You shake your head. She _had_ recommended someone specifically, but you’d forgotten and were too shy to ask her again. She’s a busy witch, after all.

“Well alright, then, no problem! My name’s Sam. I do the piercings. Steve and Bucky do the tattoos: Steve does classic tattoos and Bucky does the magic ones,” Sam explains, pointing to the respective walls of art as he says Bucky and Steve’s names.

You stare at a point a little past his eyes, confidence slowly ebbing.

But no, you’d wanted to do this for a long time. So you’d do it, even if it meant talking to strangers.

“The magic tattoo artist, please,” you murmur, hoping he won’t ask you to repeat yourself again.

But his wolf’s hearing picks it up easily. “Alright,” he says with a kind smile, before turning his back and yelling “Bucky! You got a customer!” into the back room.

You hear him before you see him. “Thanks, Sam, I got it from here.” Sam nods and steps into the room and a half second later a different man is emerging, just as handsome as the first.

You can practically feel the magic coming off of him in waves, but he smiles at you and you forget to feel nervous (well, for a second or two, at least). “Hey there, Doll. What can I do for ya?”

“I-I’d like to get a tattoo. A magic tattoo,” you say hastily.

Bucky smiles, but he sticks you with a politely assessing look. “Alright, but my prices are steep. Magic ink isn’t easy to make and doing a tattoo takes a long time,” he explains, not judgemental but coolly informative.

In response, you pull a fist-sized stone out of your pocket and place it gently on the counter between you.

Bucky’s hunched over and staring at it immediately, eyes sparkling with wonder. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks, gaze moving up to you for only a second before his eyes flick down to stare at the stone in awe.

You nod quickly. “A tornado, trapped in the stone.”

Bucky nods eagerly. “A wind stone. May I?” he asks eagerly, gesturing to the stone. You nod and you can tell it’s taking all of his self control to reach for it carefully instead of grabbing it recklessly. The moment his fingertips touch the stone the air crackles with energy, which only grows the longer he holds it.

With what seems like great difficulty he sets the stone back down, breath coming in sharp pants. His stormy blue eyes meet yours and you fight the urge to take a step back, but he’s smiling broadly a half second later. “That’s the real deal. Probably the most powerful wind stone I’ve ever seen, even. I’ll do _anything_ you want, Dollface.”

You definitely don’t get embarrassed at the possible implications of what he just said (or, more importantly, the way he said it).

And you definitely aren’t relieved when a blond man sticks his head out of the door to the back, frown lining his features, sudden appearance breaking the tension between you and Bucky.

“What’s going on? I coulda sworn I felt something,” he says, voice a little accusatory as he stares Bucky down.

Bucky’s all easy, winsome smiles. “Got myself a customer,” he says, gesturing broadly to you.

You fight the urge to shift nervously as his eyes- _are those slitted pupils? Yes, they are. Oh god, he’s a dragon_ \- assess you carefully. You apparently pass whatever unspoken test he’s just put you through, though, because he nods a moment later. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Bucky gives him a sloppy salute. “Will do, Steve!” Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky and closes the door, once again leaving you and Bucky alone.

“Let me just write up an agreement real quick. Did you have somethin’ in mind?” he asks as he digs around in the area underneath the counter. Knowing he’s not looking at you gives you a tiny amount of your confidence back.

You grip your tattered sweater nervously, but dredge up the remnants of your determination, and nod. “Yes, I do.”

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks of Bucky working for five to six hours at a time to finish the tattoo.

And it’s gorgeous. It flows like water, the movement of its subjects as natural as though he’d plucked them from nature itself and magicked them into your skin.

Your favorite animals frolic and fly and crawl across your skin, a vibrant collage of all that makes you happy. Life, captured in ink on your skin. Art that nearly brings a tear to your eye as you stare at it in the mirror in front of you.

You can see Bucky hovering behind you, dark circles under his eyes, but smile dancing on his lips at the look on your face.

“It’s perfect,” you breathe, taken aback, and turn to look at him.

His smile only grows, some of the tiredness leaving his face as he takes in your obvious happiness. “I’m glad you like it,” he says, looking just a bit bashful. “I’m going to be honest, that’s probably the best piece I’ve ever done.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Motivation is easy to find when I’m paying you in a wind stone.”

But to your surprise, he shakes his head. “No, it’s because of _you_. Your request… you’re somethin’ else,” he says, smiling crookedly at you. “It also helps that I had such a pretty canvas to work with.”

You open your mouth and stare at him, wide-eyed. When his smile turns mischievous you turn away, embarrassed. “I’m just glad your needles and ink worked on me,” you say, eager to change the subject.

“Me too,” he says, flirtatious tone gone. When you look back, his expression is nothing but earnest. “It really was a joy to work with you, (Y/N). Maybe you’ll come in again? You overpaid me, so anything you want is on the house.”

You smile at him, shifting nervously. “I would, but I think you covered my whole body in tattoos. I don’t think there’s any room left.” As if to punctuate your sentence, the cat and the giraffe fight viciously for some space on your right arm.

Bucky just smiles, though. "Just to visit, then? I really enjoyed talkin’ to you the last few days.”

You pause, mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. He… enjoyed your company?

You open your mouth to say yes, but a loud voice and the sound of a door slamming against the wall makes you shriek in surprise and jump for cover.

“Hey, Bucky? Where you at? You still not done with-”

Sam pauses and stares at you and Bucky, surprise plain as day in his face.

Your head’s peeking out from Bucky’s chest and Bucky’s face is white as a sheet, shock plain on his face.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” you say, quickly standing up straight, blinking as you lose your sight when your eyes pass through Bucky’s chest. “You scared me,” you explain nervously.

Bucky turns to you, looking like he was valiantly trying not to lose his lunch. “No, no. It’s alright. I’m just not used to- to-” he paused and swallowed thickly, eyes darting away.

You feel your face pull down in a frown and you fight the urge to run out the door. Or through the wall. “Yeah, sorry. I know it feels gross when ghosts and poltergeists pass through you. I didn’t mean to, honest,” you murmur. “I’ll just- I’ll go-” you say and turn on your heel, quickly retreating. You don’t think you’ll be able to deal with Bucky saying he doesn’t want you around anymore after that. You’d been doing so well, too, and-

“Wait, please!”

You freeze as you feel a hand pass through you and you turn to look at Bucky, confusion lining your features. He’s still pale, but he’s looking at you with a determined sort of set to his gaze that has you even more confused than if he was looking at you with disgust. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll go quickly. I didn’t mean to,” you mutter, once again turning to head to the door (it’s so close, just a few more steps and you can run and cry without having to worry about someone seeing you).

“But you didn’t say if you’d come back or not!”

You stare at him slack-jawed. “You… you still want to be around me? After I ghosted through you?”

He frowns. “Didn’t you technically poltergeist through me?” When you stare at him in shock, he smiles and chuckles softly. “Sorry, that was a bad joke. But, yes. I’d still like you to come around, if you want. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I enjoyed you bein’ here.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes talking. “Yes! I mean, yeah. I’d like that.”

His smile is soft and if you still had a heart that worked you were sure that it’d be beating hard at the sight. “Good, I’m glad. Be safe on the way home, alright?”

You nod quickly, giving Sam a tiny wave before you smile nervously at Bucky one last time before you turn and leave.

“Bye, (Y/N)!” he calls as you pass over the doorway.

You pause and turn, genuine smile alighting your face as you look at him. “Goodbye, Bucky. See you soon!”

The walk home seems a little less lonely with the bestiary inked permanently into your semi-translucent skin.


End file.
